A few observations on daily life in central Africa...
Most parts of the city have no electricity, with
Bernard’s house one of the few exceptions in his
neighborhood. Walking in the streets at night the
houses on either side are totally cloaked in darkness,
save for a few candles here and there.
It is an unusual experience to walk through densely
populated areas lit only by moonlight. And since the
streets in this particular neighborhood are not paved
and full of potholes, it is also an exercise in
walking by feel. The first couple of days Pascal and I
were stumbling around like two drunken morons, but now
we’ve gotten the hang of it I think—the key seems to
be not to commit your forward footing entirely so that
you can adjust on the fly without tripping and
stumbling.
Even having electricity doesn’t guarantee that it will
work. Blackouts and brownouts are relatively common.
The other day we found an internet café in the market
(whose connection speed seems as variable as the
weather—sometimes relatively normal and other times
taking up to 3-4 minutes to load a page), and the
power surged. My computer shut down in the middle of
an email (amidst much cursing on my part), but
Pascal’s next to me was completely unaffected. I
assumed from his snickering that he found this amusing
somehow.
After rebooting and restarting my connection, the
owner mentioned to us a few minutes later that we had
lost the satellite connection. Something about the
rain interfering with the dish’s reception. As we
waited for the satellite, sweat glistening from every
pore from the heat and humidity, the power went out
completely. Pitch dark. I couldn’t see my finger an
inch in front of my nose.
High-tech moved to the reliability of low tech as
several candles were lit and distributed. The irony of
a dozen people sitting in front of scores of computers
by candlelight was definitely worth savoring. Bottom
line: no internet that day!
I mentioned the heat and humidity earlier. They are a
constant of life here. From the minute we stepped out
of the plane last week, we literally have never
stopped sweating. It’s hot and humid outside. It’s hot
and humid inside (air-conditioning is very rare). It’s
hot and humid at night.
You would think that this is terribly bothersome. But
after a time you simply get used to it, both
physically and psychologically, and it just becomes
the way it is. Part of it means taking things at a
slower pace—after all, nobody moves all that fast in a
sauna. And another part means adjusting to its
realities.
For instance, clothes and bed sheets are constantly
somewhat damp. And if you’ve worn your clothes for the
day, they’ve really seen some moisture. This means
that clothes and sheets need to be washed every day or
every other day, as they become fertile breeding
ground for bacteria and other little critters to build
little megalopolises. If you do not, skin reactions
start after just a few days.
And of course, one needs to wash. In most countries,
this means taking a shower. In the Congo, it’s not
that simple. There is little running water, and when
there is the pressure is so low as to make a shower
completely unworkable.
At Bernard’s house, when there is running water
available we fill large eight-gallon drums for
storage. Part of this water is then slowly purified
into dozens of bottles for drinking water (also for
things like brushing teeth).
When it is time to wash, you pour some of the water
from the drum into a large bucket, then add a dash of
bleach to the water to kill off the critters (if you
skip the bleach, you will also get skin reactions, as
the water is not exactly pure). Standing in the
shower, you then use a pitcher to dip from the bucket
and pour water on yourself, using anti-bacterial
shampoo and soap to fully clean.
An awkward process at first, this quickly becomes
second nature. And since running water has been out
for days and is in short supply, Pascal and I have
become masters at the economic use of water for
showering while still getting the job completely done.
It’s worth noting at this point that despite all the
obstacles to good hygiene, Africans in the Congo are
all extremely fastidious about cleanliness. I have yet
to come across a single person here with offensive
body odor, the same of which could not be said of many
countries in Europe where a shower is just a turning
of the tap away.
The other dimension to the use of water is, of course,
the toilet. There is a large drum of water next to
ours, and after use you simply use a pitcher to pour
water into the bowl until everything flushes. This is an art form: pour water too slowly and nothing really flushes, but too quickly and you'll splash all over yourself!
While there are some things more difficult in living
here, there are some advantages as well. The windows
to the house are always open, with fresh air in
constant circulation. There are no heating or
air-conditioning expenses. You don’t need a hundred
different clothes for all the different seasons. Flora
and fauna are always in bloom, with a year-round
garden for fresh vegetables. Your skin never gets dry
and I can’t imagine anyone needing moisturizing
lotion. It’s never “too hot” or “too cold” to go
outside, since the climate is the same inside. You can
wear flip-flops all year. Every meal is kind of like a
picnic. And the list goes on.
Spending time with Bernard and his family has been
great as well. Bernard is currently working on a book
project for a French publishing house. It’s an
educational book about AIDS targeted at African high
school students throughout French-speaking Africa
(some 300 million people all along the western coast
of the continent). He job is to write a captivating
story that pits the main characters in a number of
situations that can be used for discussion points.
Apparently, it will have its steamy side as well.
The other day the publisher asked for pictures of
African teens so that their illustrator could add some
credible illustrations to the book, so Bernard and I
went to one of the high schools in the area and
received permission to interrupt several classes to
take a few portraits.
Speaking of which, it’s absolutely remarkable what the
women here can do with their hair. This may be a poor
country recovering from civil war, but I have to hand
it to the Africans for their sense of fashion. All
kinds of braiding, some so elaborate and fancy you’d
think they most have flown in top stylists from New
York. And they make amazing use of hair dyes, so that
it’s not uncommon to see, amidst half destroyed houses
and barren alleys, young women with hip outfits,
original braiding, and streaks of red, blues, yellows,
oranges or whites in their hair, often complementing
their choice of clothing and makeup. Very impressive.
Bernard’s wife Felie is Congolese, so short and lean
that she probably weighs about as much as my left leg.
As Bernard likes to say, often the smallest peppers
are the spiciest ones. Heh. When I first saw her at
the airport, I thought she looked about nineteen, but
as it turns out she’s one month older than I am and
turns 31 in a few weeks. She teaches at a private
elementary school from early morning to one o’clock.
Not a bad schedule!
Arthus, who will turn 11 in a couple of months, is one
of those kids that everyone likes. He breezes through
the neighborhood eliciting friendly hellos from one
and all, just as comfortable in blue jeans and a
T-shirt as in traditional African garb. He is of
course half-black, and what is surprising is that in
the Congo everyone considers him white. This is the
exact opposite of what happens in the U.S. or Europe,
where someone half-black is automatically considered
black. Go figure.
As the eldest of the two, naturally Arthus was in
serious deprivation of an older brother. It’s a good
thing Pascal and I came here to fix that. One of the
things we do when taking taxis with the whole family,
for instance, is what we call an “Arthus sandwich.”
Sitting between Pascal and I in the backseat of the
tiny ubiquitous aging green Toyotas, Pascal and I
crunch together until he cries uncle. Heh, heh. Builds
character!
Ulysse is the consumate extroverted charmer, always
with a coy smile and a ready laugh. Lord have mercy
when these two boys grow up and are set loose on the
women!
Speaking of which, last night Pascal and I found a
remarkably good dance club in downtown Brazzaville. At
first it didn’t start out so well as I ordered a small
coke, for which I was subsequently charged $10.
Highway robbery. But once I got over that we enjoyed
the variety of music, from techno to African to salsa
to rock. Great stuff.
Pascal was like the Energizer bunny there, dancing for
some 56 hours straight (or at least that’s what it
looked like!) until 4:00 am when we closed the place
down. At one point in the evening I counted Pascal on
the dance floor surrounded by thirteen gyrating women!
Way to go, bro!
One little cultural idiosyncracy that caught us by
surprise is how some of the women dance. On the whole
it’s very similar to Latin women, and salsa is indeed
popular in Africa. But as Pascal rushed off the dance
floor to point out to me at one point, some of the
women also make it a habit of sliding their hand down
over their crotch while dancing in a very auto-erotic
fashion. I mean, I fully expected orgasms to break out
on the dance floor any second. Fascinating.
Bernard and Felie told us to watch ourselves in these
clubs, as they can get a little rowdy. One of their
friends was hospitalized after fleeing a club chased
by a bunch of fellows shooting at his car. Apparently
he made the mistake of trying to pick up someone’s
girlfriend that he shouldn’t have. He didn’t stay in
country long after that (on a similar note, neither
did Bernard’s French ex-cop alcoholic neighbor, who
gunned down a local guy throwing rocks at his house at
night).
Anyway, nobody was shot last night, but there were a
few altercations. A Congolese colonel grabbed the ass
of a young woman sitting at the bar. She told him to
cool it off as she was married and not one of the
working girls that are often found in these premises.
He slapped her, and then she went on the attack
herself. Then everyone joined in to break it up.
Anyhow, all’s well and we’re having a fabulous time.
Bernard and family have really gone out of their way
to make our stay pleasant and enjoyable, and it’s an
amazing opportunity for us to visit and discover a
country and culture otherwise so inaccessible to the
outside world.
Cheers!
